


Warm as Skin

by Rose Argent (roseargent)



Category: Tales of Destiny
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseargent/pseuds/Rose%20Argent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon's careful maintenance of his ordinary weapons leads to unexpected benefits for his relationship with Chaltier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm as Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taichara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/gifts).



> I assumed Leon's dual-wielding style from the remake for this fic, rather than the sword-and-shield style from the original. Some of the skits from the Director's Cut indirectly inspired this fic, as well, so Leon's a bit less harsh than in the original game.
> 
> This fic could really take place at any point in the timeline, as it doesn't really reference any specific events. I hope you like it!

Leon found the ritual of caring for his daggers soothing. Regular blades needed upkeep that Swordians simply didn't, and the soft sound of whetstone on steel, the smell of the oil, they reassured him that the dagger would be sharp and free of rust when he needed it next. He could count on his tools to perform well, because he took the time to care for them properly. He tried not to think about what little care Hugo paid his _tools_ , and what that meant for their durability long term. Tried not to, but tonight he was failing.

_"Young Master?"_

"Hm?" Normally Chal kept quiet during this time, but this time the interruption was welcome. Leon had been just about done, in any case, so he checked the amount of oil on the blade--neither too much nor too little--and slid it into its scabbard. "What is it, Chal?"

_"Is there something wrong? With the blade?"_

Leon snorted, and picked Chaltier up off his stand next to the bed. "'The blade' is fine."

_"It's been used hard, this last week."_ Chal seemed stubbornly determined to run with the metaphor, and even though Leon had been the one to think it first he was finding it annoying.

"Enough, Chal! I said I'm fine." Leon felt his fingers clench around Chaltier's hilt, and forced them to relax again. Even though he knew Chal couldn't feel the tightness of his grip, he'd sense the tension. "Ugh. I've gotten oil on your hilt." It was a sign of just how out of sorts he was feeling, that Leon had managed to forget to clean up after oiling his dagger.

Chaltier was quiet, at that, but it was the sort of quiet that meant he was thinking about something, or about to say something that he knew Leon wouldn't like. It stretched on long enough that Leon was close to snapping at Chal to just get on with it, when finally Chal spoke up on his own, _"Do you think you could do that for me? What you do for your daggers?"_

Having expected more fussing, Leon didn't quite know what to do with this new topic, at first. Sometimes Chal got nostalgic or wistful about things he'd done or not done as a human, but asking to be treated like Leon treated inanimate lumps of metal was new and weird and before Leon even considered agreeing he wanted to know, "Why?"

Now Chal sounded embarrassed as he stammered out, _"W-well, it seems like it would feel good, doesn't it? Like a... like a back scratch and a massage, o-or... well, it just seems like it would feel good."_ Neither of them pointed out the obvious, that Chaltier wouldn't--couldn't--feel it, not really. But in Chal's choice of comparisons, Leon thought they were back on familiar territory, that Chal was remembering things he'd liked as a human.

He sincerely doubted that a whetstone would do much of anything to a Swordian's blade, good _or_ bad--if anything, it might just ruin a perfectly good whetstone. Chaltier had survived rock and sand and snow and salt water without any damage, so surely this couldn't hurt? 

Still, he started very carefully; _maybe_ Chaltier's blade could be repaired if he dulled it somehow, but only Hugo would know for certain, having studied Swordians more than any man alive, and Leon was not about to give _him_ an excuse to put his filthy hands on Chal. Nothing bad seemed to happen, though, so he kept going, a few long, careful strokes down each side of the razor-sharp edge. The metal of Chal's blade made almost a ringing noise as he worked, and Chal hummed softly in his head in counterpoint. Not wanting to push their luck Leon left off after just a few strokes, but if Chal was disappointed he didn't say so.

With the oil, too, Leon took his time at first, brushing just a little on the blunt side of Chaltier's blade rather than the edge, in case there was some chemical reaction he couldn't predict. Once again, there was no sign of anything going wrong, so Leon began to treat the rest of Chal's blade. Nowhere did the oiled cloth catch on even the tiniest imperfection in the metal, and as Leon worked Chal's surface started to warm under his hands until it held almost the same heat as human skin. The only other times he'd felt Chal's blade this warm was after a long time in the steam-filled baths, and somehow it felt different to know that it was his touch that had imparted the warmth.

When he'd finished, Leon let his palm rest lightly on Chal's core; Chal didn't say anything, but his core vibrated softly under Leon's hand in that particular way Leon knew meant happiness and a rare degree of relaxation. But something in the quality of that silence had Leon feeling awkward and unsure; what had started as indulging Chal's whim had, without any clear transition, turned intensely intimate in a way he'd only ever felt in dreams, before. To have that feeling of connection and closeness in the physical, waking world was... new, yes, and complicated... but good. Leon felt his cheeks heat, and admitted to himself--to Chal--that it was a very good feeling, indeed.

And at Chal's warm, wordless agreement, Leon knew that he would dream that night, of a silver-haired young man with Chal's voice and gentle hands.


End file.
